


Leather

by Shatterpath



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 22:05:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterpath/pseuds/Shatterpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An internal monologue from Dace about the accoutrements of her 'night' job and what they mean to her and why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leather

There's something about the feel of it, the smell, the weight.

 

Oh sure, many of us wear it regularly, if not every day; our belts and shoes and jackets and gloves. But the legacy of the stuff harkens back, not just to the animals who gave their lives, but to our ancestors, clothed only in the hides of their prey.

 

Think about that next time you pull on your boots!

 

As a girl, I had a few pairs of shoes in various colors, a couple of narrow belts, but nothing at all exotic. Not until I started sneaking away from home at night, driven to escape the grinding terror and miasma of my life, the darkness offering solace. In a second hand shop, stolen because I had no money, I acquired my first illicit piece of leather.

 

It was a jacket; a cracked black beast that made me think of the mean, dangerous bikers that are so much of our collective unconsciousness. It smelled musty, the cracks dry and white and it hung from my too-skinny frame.

 

I loved that jacket, wore it like armor that made me invincible against all dangers. It lived in a weird niche I found at the edge of the roof where I stashed everything my mother couldn't find. In my mind, it kept me safe until the night that monster attacked me. 

 

In my haste to escape, I had nothing but the clothes on my back. by the time Sylvia helped me win legal freedom from the State of California, the house had been sold and cleaned up, leaving that beloved first jacket only a memory.

 

Other pieces have become a part of my life since then, even a jacket that is a much more adult version of that childhood armor. They aren't the same, but the psychologically transformative property of the leather never wanes. In the boots and jacket and chaps, I become more than myself, I become the force of nature that is Leonacouer.

 

Over time, I have learned to be this more feral version of myself without the props, but it never seems as effective to me. I love my leathers, I love the way they make me feel, the way they make others feel. 

 

The way they can make anyone feel.

 

Do you feel it?


End file.
